


Our Own Side

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Boby swap, Budding Romance, M/M, just two friends falling in love in the french country side in each other's bodies, probably not that canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 03:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19759681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There was a stretch of time between Aramagedidn't and being caught by Heaven and Hell, during that stretch of time Crowley and Aziraphale had to learn to make a perfect impression of each other while getting used to a body  that was not their own and confessing maybe they are a little more then friends and probably have been for awhile now.





	Our Own Side

**Author's Note:**

> I'm almost certain they swapped bodies just fine in canon and didn't have any problems or practice pretending to be each other but shhh I want these two to flirt with each other while using the other's body. 
> 
> Also apologies if this is too out of character, I'm very new to this fandom. Just getting used to it, haven't finished the book yet and just jumped into fanfic after falling in love with the show. 
> 
> Hope someone gets some enjoyment out of this! <3

There was an old chateau in the French countryside Crowley said no one from the forces of hell knew about. It was a good enough place to lay low, far enough from prying eyes to prepare themselves for the show of a lifetime.

Aziraphale hadn’t been here since the French Revolution. After one too many crepes and far too much wine, he had stumbled after his friend into his carriage when he offered to let him stay the night in his estate. When asked how he had gotten such a lovely home, Crowley had said it came cheap omitting how the previous owner had been brutally murdered inside and the people of the surrounding village assumed it was haunted by a vengeful spirit before a demon took up shop there.

Crowley had sold his old hide out to a lower level demon who had made a sport out of toying with and stealing souls from the humans who entered. Luckily, for Crowley now at least, he came back into ownership of the old home after a fateful night said demon had been killed by a priest and holy water but that would a story for another day. The point of the matter was the horrid rumors of vengeful spirits and portals to hell had left the once beautiful countryside manor in a state of decay. In need of more than just a spot of new paint as Aziraphale had claimed with a weary smile taking in the dry bloody messages no one had bothered to clean from the wall warning them to get out.

Transferring one essence to another’s vessel was tricky business, not unheard of, but not something usually done between an occult entity and an eternal one. It would take time and concentration to do it right and it wasn’t something they could do properly in their usual homes looking over their shoulders, waiting for the shoe to finally drop and to be caught early.

Leaving the country was a smart move but taking up territory in a place another demon was supposedly inhabiting but due to poor management, had never been documented said demon had died, was just an easy way to hide themselves a little longer.

Small miracles, the wine cellar was still intact and still stocked well, a fine start to a plan that was going beautifully for once in their existence. Crowley popped the cork off a bottle and took a small mouthful savoring the taste before taking a larger swig, he walked up creaking stares without a second glance at the destroyed bedrooms. He found his angel marching around a large area that’s doors had been blown down at the end of the hall, mumbling curses under his breath about how horrid demons could be. He was staring in absolute shock and horror at the ripped up and half burned pages of what was once a beautiful library. He must have been having war flashbacks to the burning of the Alexander library and the longer Crowley stared the more anxious it made him as well. He couldn’t make light of this after witnessing the bookstore burn down. He took a large swig from the bottle before forcing it into his friend’s hands for him to take his own long, disgusted drink and steered him away from the scene, pulling him down the creaking stares of the second floor and back down to bloody messages written on the walls, sitting him down with him on the tattered and torn couch in the sitting area.

Both sullen and quiet a moment just staring at the peeling wallpaper that looked like a large set of claws had dug into them. 

“Shall we begin my dear?”

Crowley’s scowl answered that question as he slumped down and rested his head against the angel, his angel. He closed his eyes taking in his scent, new cologne, same sweet heavenly aura with just a faint touch of musky old books. It was Aziraphale and he was never going to lose this again.

“A bit of rest,” he grunted finally, “Our bodies should be fully rested before we attempt to switch I think.”

“We don’t need rest,” Aziraphale scowled, he had never been keen on the idea of sleep. It was an excuse to lollygag around in his opinion and he had always made that known the way he forced Crowley out of bed every century or so, rousing him from his much needed nap.

Crowley would never know how someone so intelligent and well read could be so dense. He was narrowminded to a fault sometimes and didn’t often look at the bigger picture and it just drove Crowley up the wall (sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively).

“Our vessels were made by completely opposing fields,” Crowley grumbled once more, “They were made to hold drastically different auras. For the last bloody time, if we don’t ease into this and make sure we are even compatible, we could just end up discorporating on the spot and where would that leave us?”

“That doesn’t mean our vessels aren’t properly rested as is,” Aziraphale grumbled, “Its best to just tear the band aid off now. Once they catch up to us, we won’t have that chance.”

“It was a long trip—”

“Only because you made us into borderline criminals to get here!”

Crowley couldn’t help the smile at the accusation, there was a lot he wasn’t about to risk right now, taking the Bentley was sadly a risk. They had always been able to contact him without his consent through radios and televisions and now that they were actively looking for him and his angel, it was best to stay as far away from usual comforts like that until they fulfilled Agnes’s prophecy. It had taken quite the back and forth banter to convince the angel the only way around that was cramping himself illegally into the luggage compartment of a train to France, but if the end result of his safety was a moping and grumpy angel it was better then a dead one. Being a wanted fugitive wasn’t quite as freeing as Crowley always dreamed it to be, even with the one he loved most by his side.

Another perk to this run down old manor was it had no electricity. It was highly unlikely for any unwanted messages to enter his brain. Heaven, like Aziraphale himself, was behind on the times and unless they knew where the angel already was, they went more on the honor system hoping for their traitor to just turn himself in to be thrown into Hell fire.

Crowley knew they had time and wanted to do this right. For once in his damned existence he was going to do it right. He stared at Aziraphale stewing in his frustration, not wanting to wait and to just get to it like they normally would and knew in his heart he was never going to let his angel die again. He swore on his damned soul, this angel, his angel, would never know what being burned up felt like ever again. He was never going to be there again, knowing he was gone.

Aziraphale’s annoyance turned to worry as Crowley rested his hand on his cheek, cupping it and just staring at him in a begging way.

“Alright, we will take it slow and do it right if that is what you wish my dear,” his angel finally relented with a sigh sinking down into the couch. He wasn’t going to sleep, Crowley knew him long enough to know he wasn’t about to do that but he wasn’t going to move as his friend sunk against him.

Just a small rest, that’s all he needed, then he was going to do it right.

Crowley felt himself nodding off, just a small nap, that couldn’t hurt anything. Before completely sinking into sleep he felt Aziraphale sigh gently, draping his jacket over him and running his fingers through his hair in a soothing manor that helped kick him into slumber with a small, wistful smile on his face.


End file.
